


The Strength of his Queen

by galaxyhawk



Series: the sand in my bones and tides in our soul [1]
Category: One Thousand, كتب الف ليلة و ليلة | Kitaab 'alf layla wa-layla | One Thousand and One Nights & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyhawk/pseuds/galaxyhawk
Summary: A quiet moment between the storyteller Queen and her monster King.





	The Strength of his Queen

**Author's Note:**

> -Scheherazade and Shayryār two current sons are named Ammar (To prosper) and Kateb (Writer).
> 
> \- Their unborn son will be named Zaki (Pure)

Scheherazade was a woman of many names and faces.

 

She was a vizier’s daughter, a victim, a lover, a storyteller, a queen and a mother. In truth, she prided herself over each individual name how they seemed to paint her into a singular role, when truly they were all just different aspects in the strange being that was her.

 

“Doesn’t it get hard Shazi?” Her husband had asked one quiet morning after a long night of weaving a long enough story to keep him sated, his hand on her belly, swollen with the first signs of the life that was growing inside of her. “To be called so many things and have to sort out what is true and what isn’t?”

 

 _No._ She had thought, meeting her husband’s ( _monster’s. No matter how much things had changed in 1001 nights, no matter how much his ragged edge had softened and peeled away, he would always be_ a **_monster._ ** _)_ gaze with a cool stare of her own. _I had to shatter myself into pieces just to wrangle you down from the hell you brought onto the people of this country while claiming it was retribution._

 

“At times.” She replied, turning her head to look away from her husband, ( _her King who governed by his emotions. Who taxed the land heavily when he was angry, who had thrown festivals when he was happy, and had draped girls in jewels and called them beloved only for them to die when he was in love. )  “_ But then I remember that much like the story I spin for you, we are all only stories in the end.”

 

He had frowned at that, a slight huff of annoyance escaping from his lips as he reached over and moved her face to turn back towards his.

 

“Didn’t you say, Dear Wife, that the stories were true at the beginning?”

 

Scheherazade dropped her gaze back to her swollen belly and resumed the mindless task of rubbing small circles on the stretched out skin, all while trying to stuff down the growing desire to either stab him with the knife she always kept hidden or kiss him instead.

 

Her silence was apparently an admission of her guilt as her jailers- _husband’s_ glare deepened and his lip pulled back into a snarl.

 

“Did you break the vow you swore to me on our wedding night?” He growled, reaching out once again to grasp her chin in a bruising grip. “Did you, despite swearing that the tale you would share to me was truthful, merely make it all up?!” His voice tapered off into a roar of pure anger when she once again responded with silence, and his hand raised up, readying to strike and then surging forward like an arrow readying to meet it’s mark-

 

_(A glint of silver in the dim morning light, the catching of fabric in her fingers and the feeling to maim and kill-)_

 

Her king. Her husband. Her jailer. Her monster gaped in surprise at the sharp point of a knife barely brushing against his jugular and recoiled in something like fear at the sight of her furious gaze.

 

“I do not know whether or not Aladdin stole the genie’s lamp or if Sinbad sailed the seven seas.” she hissed while moving to grasp his hair with her free hand. “But I choose to believe they happened, as people will choose whether or not to believe in me as the woman who conquered a killer king.” The knife dug into his skin slightly, small drops of red beading onto the silver. “And much like how without me, your name will be lost to the desert sands and you will only be a _monster_ to them.” He was gasping now, begging _please please please!,_ but she snarled and tightened her grip.

 

“Listen to me now, Dear Husband, for I will say this one more time.” The knife slashed across his face, a wet spurt of blood painting the side of her face red. “All we will be is stories for others to contemplate truth, so you will accept my truth or you will _die.”_

 

Scheherazade allowed the words to sink into her monster’s brain, to let the image of her wild eyes and his blood smeared across her face like warpaint bury itself like roots into his memory, before releasing him and stalking out of the room and to her waking sons.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy part one of this incredibly long series!
> 
> comments and criticism is always appreciated!


End file.
